


butterflies and needles

by achapterends



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Study, Fist Fights, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Platonic Kissing, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 23:04:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10501302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achapterends/pseuds/achapterends
Summary: “I’d change the seasons for you, if I could.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> sooo this was very cathartic to write and I didn't mean to project so much on to Louis lol
> 
> I listened to alt-j while writing this, so naturally there's a roundabout reference to one of their songs, and the title is from Hunger Of The Pine.
> 
> please leaves kudos and comments if you enjoy it!

Louis hates winter. He hates the short days, snow after it turns to slush, and chapped lips. He hates wearing so many layers of clothing, shoes that let the water in, and dry knuckles. 

He hates how, in the mornings, he finds it impossible to rouse himself from sleep. When his alarm rings, he rolls over and switches it off just to stop the incessant beeping. He doesn’t make any effort to get out of bed, even though he knows he should. It’s easier to just lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Eventually, he’ll get a crick in his neck, or his arm will go numb from the position he’s in. So he’ll just shift until he’s somewhat comfortable and keep staring at the ceiling.

He hates the way winter makes him feel. His bones ache and his brain doesn’t feel like it belongs to him.

—

Louis sighs heavily, exhaling shakily into the cool air of his bedroom. He shivers under his three blankets and burrows deeper down into them. He wishes it were warm. Louis likes to be warm because it reminds him of summer, or being cuddled, or laundry fresh from the dryer. 

Through the cracks in his blinds, he can see frost on the window. With all the energy he can muster, he swings his legs over the side of the bed until his bare feet touch the hardwood floor. He shuffles them around until he blindly locates his slippers that he’d haphazardly kicked off the night before, and slips them on.

He hears the telltale sound of the kettle boiling in the kitchen, and suddenly Louis wants nothing more than a cup of tea. He hopes Zayn has thought to brew him one, but more likely than not he probably hadn’t even anticipated that Louis would get out of bed today. Louis hadn’t even anticipated it, so that feels like a small victory, at least.

Louis stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing sleepily at his eyes and making a beeline for the cupboard they keep the mugs in. Zayn is sat at the back door, his bum half on the stoop as he crouches in the misty morning and smokes a cigarette. He turns his head to look at Louis and offers him a half smile, raising one eyebrow.

“You’re up.” It sounds more like a question than a statement, albeit a rhetorical one. Louis shrugs.

He opens both of the cupboard doors so he can fully assess their mug collection. All of them are secondhand, most of them are chipped. There’s a beige one and a grey one sitting next to each other, so Louis takes them both. He grabs two teabags from the box, too, after noticing that Zayn hasn’t yet made his tea. 

“Cuppa?” Louis asks, pouring the scalding hot water over the bags before Zayn can even reply.

In between drags of his cigarette, Zayn hums. Louis nods.

Louis brings both mugs to the back door and crouches next to Zayn. He hands him his mug in exchange for a puff of Zayn’s cigarette. It gives him a headrush and leaves a familiar taste on his tongue that he rinses down with a sip of hot tea.

—

It rains for eight days.

Louis walks to work in the rain. He wears a bright yellow anorak that’s three sizes too big and cowers under an umbrella, head down and eyes forward. The water sloshes around his ankles and it’s enough to send him spiralling. When he reaches the office building, he throws his satchel on his desk and angrily kicks his shoes off under the table. He locks himself in the bathroom and cries until his chest hurts.

—

The lads come over on Saturday night. Niall brings beer and Liam brings a new Playstation game he reckons Louis will like. Harry brings himself, because that’s all he needs to bring.

Louis often looks at Harry with wonder and envy and something else he can’t quite explain. Love? 

Harry’s greeting hug lingers. Louis squeezes his eyes shut and relishes every moment of it, until Harry lets him go and crosses over the threshold into the flat. Louis watches him with a funny feeling in his tummy. He’s a gangly blur of curls and dimples, and Louis thinks that it might indeed be love.

All five of them crowd up against the sofa, bodies touching in at least three different places. Louis is in the middle. He feels safe and warm and he purrs contentedly when Liam slings an arm around his shoulder. Between that, Harry on his other side, and Zayn’s hoodie that he borrowed clinging to his body, Louis feels a slither of happiness bubble up inside him. It scares him and takes him by surprise and he wishes he could bottle it up and take it with him forever. 

Niall chooses a movie for them to watch, and it isn’t anything particularly great. It keeps Louis distracted, though, his mind feeling clearer and clearer as the minutes tick by. The film has an anti-climactic ending that Liam complains about, but Zayn maintains inspiration and pulls out his sketchpad from under the coffee table to draw a comic based on Liam’s ideal version of it. 

Louis makes the most of his respite. The living room is bright and cosy and he feels infinitely better. 

Harry’s voice in his ear makes him jump out of his skin. “Are you feeling okay?”

He hasn’t told the boys, but he knows that they know. Zayn does, undoubtedly, because he has to live with Louis and he sees him at his worst. 

The fire in the pit of Louis’ stomach blazes when Harry’s breath tickles his neck. 

“I’m good.” Louis answers, gulping nervously. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment that being around Harry started to make him feel like this but it’s fairly recent and fairly life ruining.

Mostly, though, Louis thrives off it. It means he can feel things again.

Harry’s hand finds his and they intertwine their fingers in some sort of covert understanding.

—

Inevitably, it doesn’t last. Louis spends two days in bed contemplating his hunger and whether the walk to the kitchen is worth it. He’s bored of the ceiling and its patterns, quietly hopes for a change of scenery. It’s mid January, and spring feels further than ever. Louis hates winter. 

—

Zayn leaves the flat with a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a book in his arms. Louis doesn’t know where he’s going, and he doesn’t ask. He just looks up from the TV, waves half heartedly with three fingers, and then sinks back down into the sofa. He wishes it would swallow him whole. There’s a rerun of Alien playing on a movie channel Louis didn’t know they had. He watches with morbid fascination when the monster rips out of John Hurt’s ribcage. 

He falls asleep some time after the film ends and another begins, and dreams of nothing. He wakes up again, cold and feeling worse than he had before. Zayn is just home, bolting the front door and throwing his keys on the side table.

"Louis."

Louis opens one eye. Groans. Shuts it again.

“ _Louis,_ ” Zayn repeats, hissing. He sounds angry, and if his loud and heavy footsteps as he crosses the living room are anything to go by, he is. “You need to stop this shit.”

Everything slows down. Louis feels like his heart might beat out of his chest. John Hurt. 

“I can’t,” Louis breathes. “I can’t stop it.” 

Louis can’t switch it off. He can’t make himself happy. He can’t escape his own mind, especially when it’s out to get him. He squeezes his eyes shut even tighter and prays for a miracle that time will jump and he’ll be himself again. 

“Then you need to get _help,_ Louis. You can’t just sit in this flat and wither away all winter.” Zayn’s voice is calmer and more gentle, like he’s trying to understand. It infuriates Louis even more because Zayn will _never_ understand what it’s like for Louis to exist without wanting to. 

Louis swallows the lump in his throat, blinking back tears that are already spilling down his cheeks. He rolls over on the sofa so that he’s facing away from Zayn. 

“You’re a child, Louis!” Zayn yells, voice reverberating in the small enclosed space of the room. Louis covers his ears with his hands, further proving Zayn’s point. “You don't have a clue how to look after yourself so you want other people to do it for you, but all you do is push them away!”

“You have _no_ idea, Zayn. You want to get in my head and figure it all out, huh? It’s useless. I’m fucked up and I don’t need you or a doctor or _anyone_ to tell me that.” Louis snaps, jumping up with so much force it winds him. He squares right up to Zayn and bites the words at him, voice raspy and upset.

Zayn looks taken aback, but his jaw is set and his eyes are unforgiving. He reaches a hand out to grab Louis’ shoulder but Louis hits it away. 

“ _Don’t._ Don’t touch me.” Louis shakes his head, face wet with tears and lips trembling.

Zayn tries again. 

Louis punches him in the face. 

He hits him once and there isn’t really an strength behind it. It’s just anger and frustration rolled into one behind a weak and tired swing. It’ll leave a bruise, but it’s nothing. 

Zayn blinks. And then, he hits Louis back.

It sends him reeling backwards, legs hitting the front of the coffee table. He gasps audibly, his hand flying up to hold his cheek where Zayn’s fist had landed. 

“I just want you to be okay.” Zayn growls, watching Louis with blind panic. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Louis doesn’t stop crying, and he’s heaving in breaths like the air’s running out. He falls to his knees, mind racing faster than he can keep up with it as he searches for something to say.

“I’d never hurt you,” Zayn whispers, crouching down in front of Louis. It’s irony in its purest form, and Louis almost wants to laugh. Zayn’s hand moves to cradle Louis’ face, and he runs his thumb over Louis’ bleeding lip. 

“I need you. I can’t think straight.” Louis pleads.

It’s dark outside and it feels sub zero in the quiet expanse of the flat. It’s winter, and Louis hates it. He hates himself. 

He kisses Zayn. It’s uncoordinated and desperate, but Zayn kisses him back like his life depends on it. Louis notices that Zayn’s lips are soft and gentle, and that he kisses slow, and he tastes like smoke and copper. It feels so familiar that Louis know he’s going to want this again, to ask if they can do this regularly. He loves Zayn more than anyone in the world and this makes him feel better. 

“You’ll always have me, Lou.” Zayn affirms when he breaks the kiss. “Whatever way you need me, you’ll have me.” 

Zayn presses his lips against Louis’ again, chastely. It feels like a promise. 

—

“Do you think about hurting yourself?”

Louis twiddles his thumbs. “Yes.” 

The doctor nods and writes something down. Louis tries to peer across the desk and read it, but it’s all illegible jargon anyway. He isn’t really sure why he’s here. It’s far too clinical for his liking, and doctors have always instilled a feeling of anxiety in Louis. Zayn had booked the appointment for him, and he’d told him that it was Louis’ decision in the end. He could go, and he could get better. Or things would stay the same.

In the end, Louis decided that he wanted to get better.

“Do you have feelings of despair and worthlessness?”

“Yes.” Louis doesn’t even have to think twice.

“How is your sleeping pattern?”

“It’s always the same.” Louis offers. The doctor looks at him expectantly. “I’ll go to bed at like, 7? Wake up at 10. Give or take, depending on what hours I’m working.” 

The doctor adds to her notes. Louis is focused on the tick tick tick of the clock hung up above the door. Outside, it’s raining.

“Can you tell me more about how you feel, Mr. Tomlinson?” 

Louis is so zoned out that he doesn’t realise she’s talking to him, at first. His name sounds foreign and formal on her tongue. 

“Um,” Louis struggles, gnawing on his bottom lip as he finds a way to explain it. Harry is better at words than he is, Zayn even more so. Louis is far from articulate, especially when it involves talking about himself. “I guess I feel like there’s a cloud over my head. I don’t feel like myself. I feel like I’m just… existing in a body that doesn’t belong to me. Everything is exhausting and I think more about dying than being alive.”

“And you said that it’s worse during the winter months?” 

“Definitely, yeah. As soon as spring comes round, I feel like Louis again. It’s weird, I dunno. I, um, I don’t know if I’m making sense.” Louis tries not to dwell too much on the way the doctor’s face softens. She looks like she understands and it makes his heart skip a beat. No one has ever understood before. He feels hopeful for the first time in a long time.

“You’re making perfect sense, Mr. Tomlinson.” She smiles sweetly, resting her pen on top of the file she’s been scribbling on. “It seems to me that you’re suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder. It’s a type of depression where the symptoms are usually more prevalent and severe during the winter.” 

A sudden sense of relief washes over Louis. 

“We can try light therapy. Or, antidepressants, if you’d prefer.”

“Anything,” Louis rushes, half chuckling. “I’ll try anything.”

The doctor smiles again. Outside, the rain lets up.

—

The next time the lads come round, it’s because Louis invites them. He sends a message in the group chat he’s been inactive in for weeks that says _party at mine and zayns???_ , followed by a string of nonsensical emojis.

Louis is doing better. He has bad days, but they’re outweighed by the good ones. He picks up more hours at work, and he plays video games with Zayn on the weekends. The pills help, as does the light box Zayn buys for him that he keeps on his nightstand and switches on to drown his room in artificial light. 

Louis and Zayn share a cigarette out of the window while they wait for the boys to arrive. 

“Has it always been like this?” Zayn asks, placing the cigarette between Louis’ lips. 

Louis sucks on it, the cherry burning bright orange. He blows out the smoke and passes it back to Zayn. “Yeah. When I was a kid, I’d dread winter. My sisters would take the piss.” Louis scoffs. “They’d ask me how I could hate it so much when I have my birthday and Christmas to look forward to. I drove myself crazy asking myself the same thing.”

Louis pauses and picks at them hem of his sweater, where the fabric is unravelling.

“I’d change the seasons for you, if I could.” 

Louis believes him. Fleetingly, he glances at Zayn’s lips where the cigarette is hanging out of his mouth. He wants it so bad, but he doesn’t ask. In the end, Zayn makes the decision for him. He stubs out the cigarette and leans across the space between them to kiss Louis softly.

“Love you.” Zayn tells him.

Louis smiles at him fondly. “Love you, bro.”

There’s a banging at the door that disturbs the silence, followed by the echoes of a rowdy conversation that Louis is dying to be a part of. Zayn moves to let the lads in, and they come piling through the door and make a beeline for Louis. They engulf him in a warm hug that makes him feel small and safe and loved. 

Later, when Louis’ belly is full up with pizza and beer, he sprawls across the sofa, his head in Harry’s lap and his feet in Niall’s. Harry is weaving his hands deep into Louis’ hair, scratching at his scalp just right that it makes Louis mewl pleasantly. 

Niall is challenging Liam to a game on the Playstation, each of them fixated on the screen as they attempt to beat each other. Zayn is in the kitchen clearing up, probably chain smoking while he does, swaying his hips to the R&B music he’s playing from his portable speaker. 

Louis is half asleep when Harry asks him.

“Can I take you out?”

Louis frowns, unsure if he'd misheard what Harry said. When he opens his eyes and squints up at Harry, the smirk on his face tells him that he didn’t mishear at all.

“Yes? _Yes,_ ” Louis answers, disbelieving. 

Harry rubs his thumb across Louis’ cheekbone and says ‘okay’. Louis nuzzles at Harry’s hand as he settles back down in his lap, and everything feels perfect.

—

March 20th is the spring equinox. Louis welcomes it with a glass of champagne. Zayn gives him a kiss, and Harry does too. 

Louis raises his middle finger to the dark sky.

“Until next year.”


End file.
